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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988074">Tap Out</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyote_nebula/pseuds/coyote_nebula'>coyote_nebula</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Minefield [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anxiety, Artistic Liberties, Asphyxiation, Big Brothers, Brotherly Love, Bruce Wayne Has Issues, Bruce Wayne Needs a Hug, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Childhood Trauma, Chocolate, Comedy of Errors, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family, Family Dynamics, Family Feels, Father-Son Relationship, Fear, Flashback Inception, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, Hypervigilance, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, It's kinda nebulous, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Jason Todd-centric, Little Brothers, Major Character Injury, Martial Arts, Near Death Experiences, Non-Sexual Submission, Panic, Paranoia, Parent-Child Relationship, Personal Growth, Platonic Cuddling, Poisoning, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Robin Jason Todd, Protective Bruce Wayne, Protective Jason Todd, Reconciliation, Safewords, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Sibling Love, Sort Of, Symbolism, Tapping out as a safeword basically, Trauma, Trust, Trust Issues, get in loser we're going to flashback town, just kidding, like the duality of man, more layers than an onion, this is a hard one to tag</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 17:49:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27988074</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyote_nebula/pseuds/coyote_nebula</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason endures a fancy-pants art party for Damian's sake, even though crowds make him nervous and every single one of the Wayne family is a certified Trouble Magnet. He distracts himself by reflecting on the nature of trust and overcoming trauma with, about, and around Bruce Wayne.<br/>--<br/>Kind of a multiple payoff H/C with the gallery and the Bat Siblings as a framing device.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Alfred Pennyworth &amp; Jason Todd, Cassandra Cain &amp; Jason Todd, Dick Grayson &amp; Jason Todd, Jason Todd &amp; Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd &amp; Damian Wayne, Jason Todd &amp; Everyone, Tim Drake &amp; Jason Todd</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Minefield [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2044210</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>543</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Tap Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/MurtaghMorzanson/gifts">MurtaghMorzanson</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A spiritual sequel to Spike. This is a standalone, but reading Spike first will provide some context and the setup for one brick joke.</p><p>Also, partially inspired by MurtaghMorzanson's excellent AU Reclaiming Innocence.</p><p>Also also, made to heal me from that one tapout fic with Dick Grayson that I am still destroyed from.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Jason didn’t regret becoming legally alive again. Usually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the dead don’t have to show up to stuffy black tie affairs, or talk to insufferable jerkwads all night without even the catharsis of showing any of them his right hook. Snide remarks about his Narrows accent being </span>
  <em>
    <span>so very authentic </span>
  </em>
  <span>or the </span>
  <em>
    <span>avant garde </span>
  </em>
  <span>shock of white hair over his temple were one thing. (He did get an apparently genuine compliment on his glass-green eyes, but, you know. There was a lot to unpack about that.) But asides about Cassandra’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>quaint </span>
  </em>
  <span>manner of speaking or Dick’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>rather amorous nature </span>
  </em>
  <span>demanded an answer, and answers that didn’t involve </span>
  <em>
    <span>fists </span>
  </em>
  <span>weren’t Jason’s first inclination.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His first inclinations were, admittedly, maybe overkill.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he bared his teeth and generally did what he could to unsettle them without outright causing a scene. Gradually, he made himself a person to avoid, which suited him just fine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pretending to studiously consider the artwork was turning out to be a great strategy for being left alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So. It’s a… cow?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian scoffed. “It is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bull.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh-huh.” It was cropped close to the animal— light frosted the ridge of its muscular back, the curve of one gray horn. Delicate strokes lit arcing whiskers and the pebbly moisture of its nose. A violent eye glared out at Jason in challenge. He glared right back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Juxtaposed against this murder burger was a slight looking girl, maybe seven or eight. She was pale in the dark shadow of the bull’s shoulder, looking out with hard green eyes.</span>
</p><p><span>Someone nearby commented on the frailty of the girl, the guardianship of the bull, and Jason rolled his eyes. Being that this painting was signed by the demon spawn</span> <span>in the bottom right corner, he doubted </span><em><span>frailty </span></em><span>was the word.</span></p><p>
  <span>He looked again. If anything, the girl was more dangerous than the bull. She commanded him— that was her hand resting on the tip of the horn. The bull stared out with murder, but the girl stared out with—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>An elbow jabbed Jason’s side, and he whirled with a growl, hands in fists.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian smirked. “Father will probably grant you a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lollipop </span>
  </em>
  <span>if you refrain from any altercations tonight, Todd.” Damian was at his side, hovering proudly near the reverently lit painting signed </span>
  <em>
    <span>DW. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s funny. He said the same thing about you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>brat,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Jason snapped. There were so many fricking </span>
  <em>
    <span>people </span>
  </em>
  <span>here. He couldn’t watch them all at once, and he hated it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If it weren’t for Damian and his stupid </span>
  <em>
    <span>artistic talent, </span>
  </em>
  <span>all the Wayne kids might have been able to get out of attending this gallery opening. But no, suddenly the kid’s compulsion to </span>
  <em>
    <span>be the best at everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>had expanded and here they were. Rubbing elbows for the sake of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>little prodigy.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>An imposing shape entered his periphery— tall, moving with easy power. Jason tensed, snapping his attention to it. But it was just Bruce, passing cordial smiles around and deftly accepting accolades for his son. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had taken a long time to relax around Bruce. He was huge, for one thing, way stronger than the scrawny kid Jason had been when they found each other. Probably still stronger than him now. But he’d stopped flinching at sudden movements, stopped holding his breath when he found Bruce between him and escape. Stopped getting tighter and tighter the more annoyance, the more anger he detected in Bruce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They’d been on the mats, once. Bruce was still warming up to the Robin idea, but that didn’t preclude training Jason in self-defense. Bruce had him on the floor, gently demonstrating a few holds and explaining the mechanics of each submission. What this meant for </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jason</span>
  </em>
  <span> was letting someone ten times his strength sit on him while showing the ways he could potentially render him helpless, defeated, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>broken.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He kept it together pretty well. For about fifteen seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce was heavy on Jason’s torso, the hold around his arm and neck not painful, but totally inescapable and suddenly the memory of Willis pinning him to the floor, the cigarette burns and busted lips and black eyes all overwhelmed his senses in a flood of </span>
  <em>
    <span>red.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span> He struggled, bucking and thrashing ineffectually for a split second before the weight withdrew and he threw as many punches and kicks as he could, landing absolutely none of them. Panting, he scrambled to his feet and backed away, never turning from his attacker.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce held his hands out appeasingly until Jason put his fists down, still sucking air and shaking. “...Jay? Are you alright?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>no, </span>
  </em>
  <span>I’m not alright,” Jason spit, pacing small angry circles because the unspent rage was hammering in his heart and stinging his eyes. He vibrated with energy, like he could explode at the slightest touch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce got up, watching carefully, and Jason stepped back.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Don’t. Touch me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“I won’t,” he said softly. “Are you hurt?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason, absorbed in his language of violence, didn’t have words to answer. Just stared at this bruiser looking down at him, the same one he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen </span>
  </em>
  <span>bloody faces and snap bones, as his expression grew more concerned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jay,” he repeated.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Did I hurt you.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>What a joke. He should have known better than to start to trust this guy. “You said you’d train me!” he shouted, hating the way his voice cracked even in the cave’s echo. “I thought you meant </span>
  <em>
    <span>to fight, </span>
  </em>
  <span>not to </span>
  <em>
    <span>have my ass handed to me </span>
  </em>
  <span>because newsflash! I already graduated from the school of getting </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrecked!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s eyes were pinched. Slowly, he folded himself back down on the mat. “Okay,” he said finally. “I don’t think I explained </span>
  <em>
    <span>tapping out</span>
  </em>
  <span> very well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason understood fine— if it hurts, tap out. But he wasn’t hurt. He was </span>
  <em>
    <span>about to be </span>
  </em>
  <span>hurt. “Yeah, because street thugs respect </span>
  <em>
    <span>saying uncle.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“This isn’t the street. This is training. Anytime you need to stop, </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap out.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jason shifted at the sharp edge in Bruce’s tone. “If you’re in pain. If you feel unsafe. If you remember you have unfinished </span>
  <em>
    <span>math homework. </span>
  </em>
  <span>I don’t care why. Tapping out means </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason eyed him skeptically. “How exactly does that teach me to win fights?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There are no winners or losers on the mats, Jay. They’re for learning. And you won’t learn anything if you get hurt or are distracted by fear.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason flinched at that last part. He wasn’t afraid, he was…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay. He was afraid.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he didn’t reply, Bruce softened.</span>
  <em>
    <span> “Why</span>
  </em>
  <span> do you want to learn to fight, Jay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“... I want to protect people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you want to protect others, you have to protect yourself first. All of you: Your body. Your mind,” Bruce said, his voice lowering. The swell of warmth threw Jason off. “... and your heart.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>——</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bruce was still holding the same full rocks glass of scotch he’d picked up at the beginning of the gallery showing, which annoyed Jason. It rankled to see good scotch getting watery and hand-warm.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fake smile remained, but Bruce let his eyes go honest and weary when he met Jason’s. By unspoken agreement, they were taking turns keeping an eye on Damian. In the interest of safety— mostly the safety of </span>
  <em>
    <span>others— </span>
  </em>
  <span>it went without saying that Damian wasn’t to be let out of sight for even a second. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce was drifting their way, so Jason stretched and turned. “Whelp. Time to make the rounds. Don’t take candy from strangers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>-tt- </span>
  </em>
  <span>went unanswered as he wandered off. The others were scattered around the gallery, and Jason was keeping loose tabs on them too. Even in civilian identities, the Waynes were trouble magnets.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He scanned the room. Of the socialites clustering by gallery pieces and indulging in pretentious dialogues about </span>
  <em>
    <span>the duality of man </span>
  </em>
  <span>in one ink splattered canvas or </span>
  <em>
    <span>such profound commentary </span>
  </em>
  <span>in that one with burned up food wrappers, few really bumped the needle on Jason’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Could-Kick-My-Ass-O-Meter. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of the ones that did, half were family; the others were almost all security. Not that that was much relief. They watched Jason closely. He returned the favor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ahead, he noted a different sort of threat-- some ancient grey-hair was hooking an arm through a very unamused Tim’s arm, touching his chin with what </span>
  <em>
    <span>might </span>
  </em>
  <span>have been a seductive wink sixty years ago.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason sidled up to Tim from behind, shoving him roughly with his shoulder and knocking him loose from old sticky fingers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tim.” </span>
  </em>
  <span>He peered over at the old lady’s gasp of affrontement with mock mortification. “Oh goodness</span>
  <em>
    <span> me!</span>
  </em>
  <span> I didn’t even see you there</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>No time to explain, so sorry to cut your time short. Ta-ta…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason dragged Tim around the corner of the L-shaped room and slapped his shoulder. “What would you do without me, Timmy?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim wiped his chin with a sleeve in disgust. “How is she even </span>
  <em>
    <span>still alive?” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he grumbled.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every dinosaur has its day,” said Jason, noticing Cass coming towards them. She was passing that one guy, the one he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>pretty sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a Falcone bodyguard, but he hadn’t quite figured out what he was doing here without a Falcone. Surely she saw the dude too, but she was thoroughly unconcerned. Probably for good reason— Jason would be surprised if she saw </span>
  <em>
    <span>anyone </span>
  </em>
  <span>here as a ‘threat.’ “I doubt </span>
  <em>
    <span>today’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>that day, but…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim had also seen her, and they both stiffened in horror when she snagged a half-empty glass off of a pedestal and raised it to her lips. They moved at the same time, but Tim was faster.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cass,</span>
  <em>
    <span> no!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>hissed Tim, snatching it from her. “You can’t just take </span>
  <em>
    <span>random drinks.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>She gave him an annoyed look. “Not </span>
  <em>
    <span>random. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Mine. From before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim gaped, and Jason realized that it wasn’t just the grossness factor that had him wound up. “That’s even worse! Anybody could have dumped </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything </span>
  </em>
  <span>in this.” He put it on a passing waiter’s tray. “You have to watch your drinks, Cass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She regarded his upset with puzzlement. “Poison? Here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim wiped his palms on his slacks. “Or drugs. To hurt you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason’s stomach dropped. He knew something like that had happened to Tim, but for some reason he’d pictured it happening somewhere… </span>
  <em>
    <span>grungier. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Kids got drugged in Crime Alley all the time. You had to be wary of handouts. Traffickers could collect whole groups of street kids just by filling them up with a laced lunch and following them back to their sleeping spot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he’d known better then, there were some boys and girls he might have spared that life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Tim hadn’t been a street urchin like Jason. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>was his jungle. The predators here had different stripes, and Jason was just now realizing how much they were all one and the same. Where did he think the </span>
  <em>
    <span>customers </span>
  </em>
  <span>for those snatched street kids came from? God, and how many of these things had Tim been to, eyeing the fancy drinks and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hors devours </span>
  </em>
  <span>like Jason eyed every thug in a tux?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim caught him staring. He waited until Cass looked away and made a forceful </span>
  <em>
    <span>zip-it </span>
  </em>
  <span>gesture.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A paranoid urge to never let his brother out of sight again shot through him, and Jason draped a heavy arm over Tim’s shoulder. “I wonder what Dickie’s up to. Let’s go see.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim grunted and pushed his arm off irritably, but came along. Cass took up his other side to put Tim in the middle, and glanced over his head at Jason in silent question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He grimaced at her, as much in answer as in disquietude. New danger lurked everywhere. How could Bruce stand to ever let them out of the house?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick was picking through the dainty finger foods on a server’s tray. He viewed their approach with amusement, throwing a truffle in his mouth. “Uh-oh. The fun police are here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason was distracted by the cauliflower-eared skinhead on Dick’s other side. The guy was putting a meaty hand in his coat, and his adrenaline flared because there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>in Jason’s coat, nothing on his hip, why didn’t Jason bring </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>guns—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Skinhead withdrew a phone. His lock screen was a freaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>kitten.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“What!” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he snapped, realizing he’d missed his name several times already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m trying to give you a delicious piece of fudge, now take it,” Dick laughed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason batted his hand away. “I don’t want your nasty fudge, I’m not falling for that one again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>one time—“</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“The </span>
  <em>
    <span>last </span>
  </em>
  <span>time,” Jason amended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. Tim— okay, I know you won’t…” Dick held it out to Cass instead. “Cass will take it, won’t you, Cass?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim put a hand on her arm. “He probably licked it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged and put it in her mouth anyway. “Ew, Cass.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick aimed an easily dodged swat at Jason’s head. “I didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>lick it. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It’s just an... </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting</span>
  </em>
  <span> flavor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cassandra’s odd frown supported that notion. “...Chicken?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick practically sparkled at his brothers’ expressions of revulsion. “Actually, I think it’s rosemary. You should try the grapefruit one though, it’s amazing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He went on to describe some of the other culinary detours he’d taken, but Jason stopped listening as soon the kitty thug turned, eyes narrowed and suddenly reaching out to grab Dick—</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Jason shoved between them, yanking his brother away. “Think again,” he growled, ignoring Dick’s yelp, Tim’s squeak of objection, and Cassandra’s deadly stance in favor of the stunned looking assailant. Good. He’d scared the guy, and he hadn’t really even engaged yet. He was here to do what his siblings couldn’t out of their more formidable identities— Gotham knew Grayson as the lovable gymnast. Tim, the Wayne Enterprises whiz kid. Cass… well, she was a foreign charity case. None of them should be anywhere </span>
  <em>
    <span>near</span>
  </em>
  <span> art house brawls.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Jason? Scrappy street rat all the way. It was more out of place if trouble </span>
  <em>
    <span>didn’t </span>
  </em>
  <span>follow him everywhere, and he was only too happy to oblige the expectation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The guy recovered quickly. “What’s your problem, bro?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Problem? No problem. If you want to throw down with some rando, might as well be me, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He made a big flat-handed gesture towards Dick. “A man of good taste wants to talk about my chocolates, I can’t say hello?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your… what?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before Jason had time to figure out what the fudge chocolate had to do with fighting, he felt a familiar hand cupping the back of his neck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, sport. Let’s take a walk,” Bruce said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He let himself be drawn away, the others gathered tightly around him and Bruce. He had the uncomfortable sensation of being </span>
  <em>
    <span>escorted.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Behind him, Dick called out. “Oh! Candyman— the juniper ones? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Chef’s kiss. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Perfection.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason scowled back at Dick in time to see Kitty Thug throw up the sign of the horns in reply. Dick turned forward with a grin and shrugged at Jason’s glare. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You oughta watch your </span>
  <em>
    <span>six </span>
  </em>
  <span>a little closer, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Dickie,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jason snapped, then felt himself drawn closer to Bruce’s side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce leaned very close to his ear, ostensibly to reprove him in privacy. Instead, he asked: “Had enough of this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell yes,” Jason sighed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s two of us. I think it’s about Damian’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>bedtime, </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce squeezed the nape of his neck once before letting his arm drop. Tim had sidled up to Jason’s right, and he wondered if it felt safer there or if he hoped it would make </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jason </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel safer. Either way, with Dick and Cass as the rear guard they were an impenetrable unit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason relaxed, then saw Bruce’s diluted scotch </span>
  <em>
    <span>still </span>
  </em>
  <span>in his hand. “Oh my God, B. You’ve been carrying that around all night</span>
  <em>
    <span>. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> going to drink it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s an accessory,” Bruce said easily. The sea of guests automatically parted for their group like sheep bubbled around a wolf pack, wary and helpless but for their numbers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Damian’s painting was in sight, but the kid </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t.</span>
  </em>
  <span> There were no little balls of arrogant energy anywhere, to the right or to the left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, crap. “...Where’s the brat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Their formation dissolved as they turned lookout in every direction. Jason spotted Damian’s event program on the floor in a dark doorway, a velvet rope blocking the hall. It was dog-eared from being worked in small hands all night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He passed the little girl and the bull glaring out from the frame, leapt the barrier and skidded into the hall just in time to see two shadows disappearing down the far corner.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey!” he bellowed, taking off into a sprint and pounding down the echoing corridor with Bruce’s footfalls just behind him. The others would crowd control.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason thought the movement ahead sounded like Damian, but he couldn’t think of a reason he’d just </span>
  <em>
    <span>let </span>
  </em>
  <span>himself be kidnapped, apparently on his own two feet no less. He barely let his own family drag him around, so why—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Around the next bend, he had his answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Two people were struggling with the fire exit door when he cornered them. Damian registered first, scowling but apparently unharmed. The other party was a pint-sized deer in the headlights, not the evil villian Jason was prepared to put the hurt on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus Christ,” he panted, putting a hand to the wall in relief. He called back to Bruce as he thundered up to them and stopped. “It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kent Junior.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce’s murderous expression faded as he altered his assessment of the situation. “...Jonathan. Does your </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span> know you’re here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The kid was tongue-tied. “Nnnnn… yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Damian huffed impatiently. “There is a whale beached near our base, Father. We </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span>—”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what,” Bruce hissed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “just </span>
  <em>
    <span>go.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jon grinned widely and Damian allowed a self-satisfied smirk. “I will report to the Manor when we are concluded,” he said, and then they had the jammed door open and had disappeared into the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jesus,” Jason muttered again, heart still pounding and fists still </span>
  <em>
    <span>itching. </span>
  </em>
  <span>The suddenly quiet corridor felt suffocating. Bruce was much the same, distantly readjusting his bowtie and smoothing his jacket. Jason’s gaze fell to the other hand. “How. In. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The hell.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce followed his eye to the unspilled glass of scotch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re unbelievable,” Jason grumbled, snatching it from his grip and knocking it back in one movement.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately for his devil-may-care image in the face of Bruce’s glare of disapproval, it went down rough. Jason sputtered and cleared his throat. “Wrong pipe,” he scratched out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then the coughing </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> started.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To his dismay, his inability to stop hacking up a lung was really negating the stress-reducing effects of the alcohol. He couldn’t get a breath in edgewise, even when the coughing died out to a harsh wheeze. He could see Bruce’s alarm through the tears. It shouldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> be getting harder to breathe, unless—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh. Shit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The glass shattered when it slipped out of his hand. He clenched Bruce’s jacket sleeve in his fist, finally discerning the chemical aftertaste. Not good.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Straining to fill his lungs was taking most of his attention at the moment, but the hurried murmur of instructions nearby let him know Bruce was calling in assistance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Bruce was speaking quietly to him with tightly bridled panic, trying to sit him down, but Jason resisted. He couldn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>breathe, </span>
  </em>
  <span>every inch of his airway felt like solid rock and his instinct was to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fight, </span>
  </em>
  <span>to resist the pressure</span>
  <em>
    <span>—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy, Jaylad. Save your energy. Don’t move. Easy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His knees buckled. Spots obscured his vision but he could feel Bruce’s arms controlling his fall, protecting his head from busting on the floor, holding him against his chest while he thrashed against an invisible chokehold.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Resisting was usually easier. Probably because there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>usually</span>
  </em>
  <span> more oxygen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ve got you. Hold on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All his energy was dedicated solely to trading even </span>
  <em>
    <span>one molecule </span>
  </em>
  <span>of carbon dioxide for oxygen, but his back could only buck in useless spasms in desperate reflexes for air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Easy, boy,” Bruce murmured quickly. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you, you’re okay…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His vision was black but he could still just barely feel the hold around his tingling limbs and over his stuttering heart. He was underwater, Bruce’s muffled voice above him while he sank deeper and deeper.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Stay awake! Damn it, don’t you dare— not again—” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason was going to choke out. He was done, he submitted, fight over, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop—</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Two taps on the arm over his chest was the last trembling movement he managed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he was gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>——</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thing about Bruce that took a long time to realize was this: If Jason was scared, Bruce was </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>As Batman, Bruce wielded fear. When that didn’t work, he augmented it with </span>
  <em>
    <span>anger. </span>
  </em>
  <span>It was his nature in its purest manifestation. Jason got</span>
  <em>
    <span> that</span>
  </em>
  <span> immediately. You didn’t survive Willis and then life on the street by sucking at sizing people up. Bruce hid it better than most, but that didn’t change what was underneath.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So tapping out became a litmus test.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The first time he took it off the mat, he was watching tv on the couch while he waited up for Bruce. Before patrol, he’d drilled Jason on escaping holds. At least, he’d tried: Jason tapped out of almost every one. As soon as he felt his movement constricted, felt the restraint, his mind blanked totally except for </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop.</span>
  </em>
  <span> One tap later he’d be free, and after a visual once-over Bruce set up to try again</span>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>After the thirteenth failed attempt, he’d ended up punching the mat in frustration. Bruce patted him lightly with the back of a hand before picking up his towel. “Good work,” he’d said, and he left Jason completely stymied to get suited up for the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the couch, Jason turned it over in his mind. Obviously, he’d sucked. So why the praise? Was Bruce mocking him? Bruce was probably mocking him. That would be about right, the joke was on Jason for buying all his BS about </span>
  <em>
    <span>protecting yourself to protect others.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It was late when Bruce flopped down roughly next to him, apparently in an unusual mood— he threw an arm around Jason and pulled him up tightly to his side.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The unexpectedness and lack of precedent immediately had Jason rattled. A lot of bruises had started with an affectionate Willis and a bottle. Without thinking, he tapped the forearm wrapped around his chest.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both sprung apart in wide-eyed surprise. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce looked… guilty? It was hard to tell past the worn out lines. “Sorry.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh. No, it’s… okay,” Jason said lamely. They sat back to study a cat food commercial like cats were some kind of fascinating alien lifeform.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was weird for Bruce to still be here. Normally, he’d have found Jason for the purpose of sending him to bed, with or without an admonition to stop staying up into the small hours of the morning just to make sure he made it back. And the most contact that would take was a guiding hand on his shoulder, as if he didn’t know which direction his own room was in. Then he’d disappear into the master bedroom for the night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason stole a glance over at Bruce. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was staring at the tv, but it didn’t look like he was really watching. There was something listless and… haunted, maybe, about his expression. Like someone who’d woken up from a bad dream and couldn’t or wouldn’t go back to sleep.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason scanned for blood. “You okay, boss?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce blinked black from wherever he’d zoned out to. “I’m fine, Jay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Nah. Try again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A tiny quirk of a smile tempered the narrowed eyes. Bruce’s glance lingered on him before sliding in the direction of the tv again. He dropped his head against the couch back. “...Long night.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason bit his cheek, debating. “Was it kids?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This look was sharper, but the limp turn of his head against the couch cushion wearier. “Something like that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason </span>
  <em>
    <span>hmm’d. </span>
  </em>
  <span>They continued to not-watch tv for a while, until Jason stretched and with measured, deliberate casualness let his knee rest against Bruce’s. An olive branch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce heaved a sigh and let his leg relax against Jason’s.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>From that point on, it was an experiment: is tapping out </span>
  <em>
    <span>always </span>
  </em>
  <span>“stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason tapped out the next night, when Bruce was herding him to bed by the elbow. He tapped out when Bruce playfully grabbed him by the backpack strap. He tapped out when a comb hit a tangle in his hair. Jason put it to the test any way he could think of short of purely verbal exchanges. When Bruce withdrew as if scalded, Jason flashed a delinquent grin, said “Just checking,” and often seized the opportunity for retaliatory horseplay of his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason thought his stupid tap-out game would help him find Bruce’s limit— the one where his tolerance for being tested and toyed with ended and the </span>
  <em>
    <span>real </span>
  </em>
  <span>man came out. Jason could handle a black eye for the sake of research, and then he’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>how far he could push. He could stop guessing, stop walking on eggshells just waiting for the shoe to drop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But instead of losing patience every time Jason tapped out of something ridiculously innocuous like a hand on his shoulder or a steadying grip, Bruce only got clear, checked that he wasn’t really in trouble, and then assumed a fond look in response to Jason’s shit eating grin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Before long, the experiment generated some very unforeseen results.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead of avoiding Jason, Bruce stayed closer. The stiff, awkward hands were soon kind and careful ones. Impersonal bedtime marches were soon hugs goodnight. Tense silences were soon absent arms around shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And what was weirder?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason liked it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason started slacking off on his crusade to break Bruce’s Good Guy act. Every hug he interrupted, he went back to finish. Most of the time he was too busy savoring it to play his game anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What was more, his confidence on the mats improved. Bruce didn’t make his lizard brain freak out so much anymore. When it did, he still tapped out. But a deep breath later he’d be ready to go again. It stopped being a survival exercise and started being almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>fun.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The night Jason accidentally caught Bruce’s fist with his nose, the pieces clicked together.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Tap,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he’d gasped, pretty unnecessarily because Bruce hadn’t exactly </span>
  <em>
    <span>missed </span>
  </em>
  <span>the blood pouring down the front of his shirt. He’d been getting too confident with his block, and had let his mind wander just long enough to miss a strike that Bruce couldn’t pull back in time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Ughhh.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on,” Bruce said tightly. He didn’t touch Jason while they left the blood-spotted mat for the medbay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gestured to the gurney. “Sit.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason found a wad of gauze placed in his hand, and he put it to his nose with an uncertain glance at Bruce, who wasn’t looking at him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll call Alfred. He’ll have you fixed up before I get back.” Bruce made as if to leave without even waiting, leaving Jason alone..</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait,” Jason blurted, feeling a little lost. Bruce paused. “I should have seen that one coming, boss. Sorry.” Bruce didn’t move, so he kept talking. “Do we really need to tell Alfred? He’s gonna be ticked. He’ll probably ban us from sugar or something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span> Bruce finally looked at him, something darkly pensive in his expression. “It might be broken. Someone needs to look at it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason started to lick his lips before remembering that they were sticky with the tang of blood. “Yeah, but… can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>do it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently genuine confusion flashed over Bruce’s face. “Me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah? You broke it, you can fix it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce was hesitant as he returned to Jason. It was like the last weeks never happened, and suddenly he was…</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holy crap. Bruce was </span>
  <em>
    <span>afraid to touch Jason.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>“If I hurt you I want to know,” Bruce said, gently turning his face to the light. “Okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Boss. You already busted my nose. How much more hurt can it get?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce wasn’t amused by that remark. He sighed in exasperation and picked up Jason’s free hand, placed it on his forearm. “If it’s too much, tap out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason could have laughed. “I’m starting to think </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one that might need to tap out, old man.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hissed out a breath, leaning on the gurney like he was in a gravity well. “Jay. Don’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me </span>
  </em>
  <span>hurt you. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stop me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>The pleading edge sobered Jason up as much as the subtle dilation of his cool blue eyes. The autonomic lizard brain firing. Fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got it, boss,” he said, and while Bruce was gingerly cleaning up his nose, running scans, and dispensing anti-inflammatories, Jason chewed on this development.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reasons to be scared of Bruce weren’t hard to figure out. Bruce could unequivocally kick his ass, and there was a fluctuating amount of trust between them, which made him even more dangerous. But Jason wasn’t a threat to Bruce in any physical sense of the word. Sure, he knew Bruce’s secret, but spilling the beans would be shooting himself in the foot. He’d lose everything— the meal ticket, the cushy digs, the relative safety of his new life. So that was hardly leverage at all. Bruce was the one with all the cards.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched Bruce’s forehead crease as he studied the x-ray film. There was nothing to worry about </span>
  <em>
    <span>from</span>
  </em>
  <span> Jason. But for some reason, Jason made him worry. Particularly, laying a hand on Jason made him worry, turned him sheepish and reluctant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not gonna tell anybody you hit me,” Jason said finally. “I’m not an idiot.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce turned from the film to Jason. “What?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason gestured to the taut posture he was holding. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re being weird. </span>
  </em>
  <span>All the sudden I’m like nitroglycerin or something. We’re cool, alright? I’m not going to rat you out for this, I mean, I’ve had a lot worse. You can quit getting worked up over it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce frowned, and Jason wondered if that was a smart thing to admit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned off the lightbox and the film went dark. “Not broken,” he mumbled, leaning back against the counter and letting out a long breath. He crossed his arms. “You,” he said slowly, </span>
  <em>
    <span>“have</span>
  </em>
  <span> had worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. You’ve </span>
  <em>
    <span>seen me </span>
  </em>
  <span>with worse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce shifted, choosing his words carefully. “That’s the thing, Jaylad. You’ve had </span>
  <em>
    <span>so much worse.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason just looked at him. Yeah. They’d established that already. Willis gave him worse. So what?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t want you to feel unsafe in your own home </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever again,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>he said. “If you feel unsafe with me, it’s my responsibility to either fix that or find you someone you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can </span>
  </em>
  <span>feel safe with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Huh. People didn’t say things like that unless they were trying to get in your head. Make you useful. But Bruce… he’d respected the tap. Every time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His swollen nose wasn’t helping the tears building up in his head. What a time to turn into a wuss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You deserve to feel safe, Jay,” Bruce said softly, somehow reading his mind. “What can I do to help?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was the first time Jason asked</span>
  <em>
    <span> Bruce</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a hug.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>——</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Air.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It didn’t feel </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>exactly, but it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>air</span>
  </em>
  <span> and it was rasping in and out like it was supposed to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Muffled sound reached him slowly, like putting his ear against a locked door.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“C’mon, Little Wing. Come on. Breathe for me.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Dick—”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“I’m working on it, Bruce, give me a sec... Jay. Come. On. Breathe!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>More sound faded in. A gaseous hiss. Crinkling plastic. Some kind of thudding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sensation returning to his numb body was probably good except for his </span>
  <em>
    <span>chest, fucking ow, </span>
  </em>
  <span>what in the hell jumped up and down on him?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There you go, Jay. That’s better, keep going. You got this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wheezed from deep in his aching chest. God, where did the broken ribs come from, he’d taken pummelings that hurt less. He wanted to groan but his throat was still solid fire and it wasn’t working. There was a weirdness around his neck; he reached towards it blindly and felt some plastic edges and damp gauze before someone caught his hand and held it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t touch it, buddy. It’s okay. We got you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Oh. Trach tube. Wonderful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jay? Can you look at me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason opened his eyes to a blinding floodlight and snapped them shut again, blinking until his pupils remembered how to contract. Outside. A rooftop. And Dick, one hand still splayed on his chest. “Hey, Little Wing. You’re good, just hang tight, okay? Pickup’s on the way.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gaze floated upwards in the direction of the fingers stroking his hair. Bruce took a strangled breath when Jason met his eyes. “Hey,” he said roughly.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Hey, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jason mouthed, because his throat was still clenched shut above the incision letting him breathe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce shushed him anyway, combing through the remnants of his hair gel. Jason closed his eyes. He was exhausted. The repetitive motion was a good distraction from the pain of his wrecked ribs and swollen throat, so he focused on that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rest, Jay,” Bruce said thickly. “You’re safe.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>——</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>You could say that the whole dying and being resurrected thing was... complicated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, with some distance, he could admit that it might have been different in Bruce’s hands instead of Talia’s. As bad as living with Willis had been, being bent to the will of the League of Shadows was like that, doused in gasoline, lit on fire, and rolled off a cliff into shark-infested water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce had restraint. Even Willis had restraint. The League’s only restraint was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not letting you stay dead.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>There were no winners or losers on the mats. But the League had no mats. The League had ornate mosaic floors, granite stone, uneven rock. All hard. All fit for winners and losers.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no such thing as </span>
  <em>
    <span>tapping out. </span>
  </em>
  <span>You fought until you killed, or you fought until you died. Injury was expected. If a broken bone stopped you, you’d be slaughtered, so you got right back up. Jason won matches one-handed, blinded, exsanguinated, and once, crushed. It didn’t matter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Pit was always there to haul you kicking and screaming back into the land of the living.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In some ways, Jason could relate to Damian’s League upbringing. The brutality. The emphasis on </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfection. </span>
  </em>
  <span>But Damian was the Heir. A prince of the underworld, catered to in every way. Nurtured. Cruelly tested, but carefully cultivated for confidence and power befitting a future world leader, his curriculum meticulously developed to push him, but never to break him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason, however, was a nobody.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was a junkyard grab— potentially useful, but acquired </span>
  <em>
    <span>as is, </span>
  </em>
  <span>on the cheap, for lesser ends. A toy. If he worked out, fine. If he didn’t, fine. Wonder if Jason’ll survive twenty-</span>
  <em>
    <span>five</span>
  </em>
  <span> ninjas today. Let’s find out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was barracked alone. He ate alone. Slept alone. Recovered alone. Destroyed his knuckles on stone walls alone, because pain was his best and only companion between death matches and Talia’s scathing propaganda.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he got back to Gotham, he’d forgotten all about his time on the mats. He was a weapon, now. The only safety was killing. The only submission was death. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he didn’t plan on dying ever again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Returning was a whole </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> in itself. Jason regretted most of the next couple years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Somehow though, he found himself eventually drawn back into the fold. Cave business only, at first. Then he got roped into a few family dinners. Then his siblings decided to start dropping in at his safehouses whenever they felt like it, which was infuriating until it wasn’t anymore. A motorcycle wreck (an actual wreck, not a “motorcycle wreck” that left knuckle shaped bruises) had him laid up at the Manor for a couple weeks, mostly to placate Alfred but also to get all the other Bats off his back about living alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When he was ambulatory again, he lingered for a few more days. He told himself it was for the cooking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The transition from occasional Cave visitor to regular customer led him closer to Bruce.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce was different since Jason died. That’s what everyone said, but from this range Jason could see it with clarity. It wasn’t sheepishness. Not even arrogance, like he assumed. It was… distance. He’d gone deep inside himself, the thorny surface a thick armor. Nothing short of life or death penetrated.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Jason showed up early to the Cave one night. He tossed a roll of tape over to where Bruce was hunching over the computer. “Hey, old man,” he’d said. “Spar with me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a second Jason thought Bruce would just ignore him. He was good at that these days. But then he got up and started wrapping his knuckles.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The training area was more state of the art than when Jason had first come down here, but mats were mats. They faced off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The spar that followed started fast and only got faster. This wasn’t between master and beginner. This was between two old pros who had fought too many fights with nothing to lose.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Bruce landed a hit to Jason’s mouth and he tasted blood, it turned vicious.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They matched each other blow for blow until Jason kicked Bruce’s bad knee out from under him and pinned him with an arm behind his neck. This one wasn’t meant to kill. It was meant to hurt. The savagery coursing through Jason at that moment wasn’t interested in </span>
  <em>
    <span>blood</span>
  </em>
  <span> so much as misery. The sweet chord of </span>
  <em>
    <span>revenge </span>
  </em>
  <span>had rung out with that blow to the mouth, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> ringing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A nauseating </span>
  <em>
    <span>snap </span>
  </em>
  <span>cracked through the cave, and Jason stumbled back in shock amid distant gasps of horror— their brawl must have attracted an audience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce was back on his feet in an instant, stance ready except for the useless arm hanging on his left. His eyes were almost black, blown pupils watching without recognition like a cornered animal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim and Dick appeared in Jason’s periphery as if to intervene, but they hung back out of range. Tim gave him a particularly wide berth. This was a dog fight, and it was all too easy to become collateral damage to savage teeth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell,” Jason panted hoarsely. “You… you…” He gathered himself in a surge of fury. “Why didn’t you </span>
  <em>
    <span>tap out, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you</span>
  <em>
    <span> fucking masochist?!”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce blinked. Something more </span>
  <em>
    <span>coherent </span>
  </em>
  <span>came back to his expression.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dick took that as his cue to step bodily between them. “Okaaay, Bruce to the medbay, Jason to the showers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They warily stepped past Jason with Bruce in tow. Jason watched, pivoting, and when he saw the edge of the mat his heart fell to his feet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred was standing there. He’d seen the whole thing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason burned with shame. He ducked his head, intending to storm past the reproachful eyes he couldn’t bring himself to meet, get on his bike, and disappear. The family reunion had been kind of nice, but he should have known it couldn’t last. So much for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A thin hand stopped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Master Jason.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to look. Even through his lowest lows and maddest Pit madnesses, he’d always been convinced of Alfred’s love. It was the one bond Talia hadn’t been able to break, and if that was over Jason wasn’t sure if he could live with knowing it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lad.” One fingertip gently lifted his chin until he couldn’t help but see Alfred’s slightly shaken but kind eyes. “Would you be so kind as to go upstairs and start a pot of tea?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Stay.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Tears welled up in Jason’s eyes. He nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Alfred smiled. “Good lad.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The rote activity gave him some time to calm down. Sitting at the bar with his head in his hands, waiting, instead gave him time to start feeling like an irredeemable sadist. He flinched when his phone buzzed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <b>
    <em>Dickface:</em>
  </b>
  <em>
    <span> Alfred said to tell u to bring tea down. I think he means “come see Bruce” tbh </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jason stared at the text. He didn’t want to see Bruce. There were too many confused emotions swirling through his head and pounding in his throbbing fists to see Bruce. He’d broken his arm, but there were plenty of other bones left to crush in a fit of rage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He eyed the door. It wasn’t too late to walk out and never come back….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason brought the tea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in pretty short order he found himself alone with Bruce and his freshly set arm in the medbay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Did Alfred already give you your lecture?” Jason said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hnn.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A flare of annoyance shot through him. “Is that a yes or a no? ‘Cause you sure as hell </span>
  <em>
    <span>deserve</span>
  </em>
  <span> a lecture.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce just glared. He was perched on the edge of the cot, obviously waiting for everyone to leave him alone so he could get back to work.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow,” Jason bit out. “After all that bullshit you fed me about </span>
  <em>
    <span>protecting yourself to protect others. </span>
  </em>
  <span>If it had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, if I had tapped out, would you have even honored it? Or would you have broken my arm anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce tensed, an objection on the tip of his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t want to hear it. “You </span>
  <em>
    <span>let me hurt you, </span>
  </em>
  <span>you sick freak,” Jason snarled. “Did you think I wanted that, or do you just</span>
  <em>
    <span> hate yourself </span>
  </em>
  <span>that much?” The tears were coming up again. Nice. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Perfect timing, you baby. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Were you trying to </span>
  <em>
    <span>prove </span>
  </em>
  <span>that I’m a rabid monster? Because I think everybody already </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole.”</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Stunned, Bruce stared wordlessly at the hot tear rolling down his cheek. Jason refused to acknowledge it. He’d killed people. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot </span>
  </em>
  <span>of people. Most of them were essentially zombies, but still. He’d kill again, if only to keep the blood off others’ hands. For him, it was too late.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Weapons and rabid monsters didn’t get to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The armor was off, now. Bruce, with more emotion than he’d seen in years, looked distraught as he raised his good hand and wiped the wetness away with his thumb. He left his hand at his jawline and it struck Jason that the last time he’d done this, he was so much smaller. Not even Robin yet, and still in a fearful awe of Bruce. Bruce had still been in fearful awe of him, too, like something delicate and precious that needed protection, most of all from </span>
  <em>
    <span>him.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce looked him in the eye. “You are </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>a monster,” he ground out.</span>
</p><p><span>Jason blinked, and more tears spilled over. “Neither are </span><em><span>you,” </span></em><span>he rasped, almost in a whisper.</span> <span>“What will make you believe that?”</span></p><p>
  <span>Now Bruce was welling up, his deep frown finally reaching his eyes. He looked absolutely </span>
  <em>
    <span>wrecked</span>
  </em>
  <span> as he slowly opened up his good arm in invitation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason wrapped his arms around him, and for a second, he was small again.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>That </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the first time since Bruce lost everything that he felt like he’d gotten it back.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>——</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jason’s body was warm under the blankets, but the cool air on his head was giving him a headache.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It could only be the medbay. Bruce always kept it way too fricking cold in there. He could probably bribe somebody into turning up the heat, or at least finding him a cap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lights were dimmed. A digital clock blinked </span>
  <em>
    <span>4:47 AM </span>
  </em>
  <span>in red characters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Movement caught his eye. Tim, sitting cross-legged at the end of the cot, sipping from a mug. He was typing one handed on a laptop.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason wanted to tell him to go to bed. But he knew how that would go.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Air flowed normally through his nose and mouth, if gratingly, so they’d fixed whatever happened to his throat. The tracheostomy was still there, though. He really hoped it wasn’t permanent. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That</span>
  </em>
  <span> would strike fear into the hearts of criminals.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nudged Tim with his foot. The way just </span>
  <em>
    <span>swallowing </span>
  </em>
  <span>felt like turning on a garbage disposal, it wasn’t worth trying to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim jumped. Probably too much caffeine. He smiled when he saw Jason awake, though. “Hey. Some party, huh?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason rolled his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad joke. Sorry. Do you need anything?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>A hat. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He pointed at his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim pursed his lips. “Your head hurts?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes. But no.</span>
  </em>
  <span> He shook his head and mimed pulling a cap on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“...Grab. Get.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason sighed. He rubbed his arms, trying not to snag the IV line in the process.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim frowned. “...Cold?” he ventured.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yes! </span>
  </em>
  <span>Jason gave a quick thumbs up and pointed to his head again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cold. Face. Brain. Brainfreeze?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason covered his face momentarily and took a deep breath in exasperation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll get it, I’ll get it, do it again,” Tim said.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He gave him a skeptical look. </span>
  <em>
    <span>This </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the kid that had deduced Batman’s identity with nothing more than a photographic memory and a camera. Once more, he rubbed his arms and pointed at his head.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Cold. Head. Your head is cold!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason gave him two thumbs up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can get you a hat?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason gave a dramatic slow clap and tried not to laugh, because every part of his body involved in laughing was presently agonized. He tried not to yawn, either, for similar reasons. This little exchange had sapped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim slid off the cot, leaving the laptop on the counter. He stretched. “I’ll go find you one. I think there’s some knit caps in the thermal gear.” He turned to walk out and Jason snapped his fingers sharply, twice. Tim turned back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason held up his hand in a tired ILU.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tim grinned crookedly. “Love you too, Jay.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>——</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Jason dragged Cassandra all the way from her dance studio to the den.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce looked up at them and straightened when they came in. He’d been resting his head in his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the couch. Supposedly he was working, but staring into space with your work laptop closed doesn’t exactly constitute </span>
  <em>
    <span>working. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“...Yes?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been quiet ever since the gallery showing. For the already taciturn Bruce, that meant forgetting how to engage with human beings in any meaningful way except by dispensing justice through his fists. It was about time to straighten that out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason turned halfway to Cass. He made a booze bottle gesture with his hand and chugged the invisible drink. Then he made a messy all-over motion in the vicinity of his bandaged, stitched up throat, which was still unbearably raw or he’d just </span>
  <em>
    <span>use his words </span>
  </em>
  <span>for this. Hell, he’d write a note if he thought Bruce would believe anybody but Cassandra right now. He made a cutthroat motion with his flattened hand and pointed with emphasis at Bruce, whose bewilderment would be almost funny if he wasn’t driving everyone up the wall with his gratuitous brooding.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cass observed him calmly, then turned towards Bruce with a flippant gesture towards Jason. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“Not your fault,”</span>
  </em>
  <span> she said. She detoured to give Bruce a kiss on the cheek, then left without further ado.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bruce sighed, but his eyes were fond when he glanced at Jason. “Okay.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason rolled his eyes and sat down heavily next to him. Or, as heavily as he could without getting a coughing fit started. Recovering from an extremely inflamed and irritated respiratory tract with three broken ribs, in a word, </span>
  <em>
    <span>sucked.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still getting situated when Bruce pulled him up close to his side, somehow avoiding his broken ribs and dragging him over by the hip instead. His arm was wrapped around Jason’s shoulders, tilting him until he was nestled in and pillowed on his chest, then sighed more deeply than before, as if he’d been only half breathing until now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason blinked slowly, drowsy in the warmth of a sunspot and Bruce’s soft sweater.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reached up to Bruce’s wrist where it was draped over his shoulder, and he could feel the sudden tension. Bruce thought he was about to tap out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wasn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jason just wrapped his hand around Bruce’s wrist and held on, because they’d mastered the signal for </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop </span>
  </em>
  <span>without even beginning to learn the one for </span>
  <em>
    <span>stay.</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Jason: Parties make me feel like I'm gonna die<br/>Also Jason: Guess I'll ruminate on all those other times I felt like I was gonna die</p></blockquote></div></div>
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